Chapter eighteen

Planting Season

The town of Bree, as the three friends knew, was always a-bustle, but Harvestmath made it all the more so, and the “bustle” began at an earlier hour. When Boromir, Merry and Pippin awoke, it was to the sound of musicians performing in the street just underneath their window. This, in itself, was not a bad thing, but the three had awakened with headaches from the previous night’s tippling, and they groaned as one when the minstrels struck up a particularly rousing tune.

“Oh,” Pippin groaned. “Boromir, take us to the Apothecary, and with all haste, I beg of you!”

“Not to worry,” the man replied. “And no need for all of us to go, I can manage on my own. I shall tell Mistress Butterbur that we shall be late in breaking our fast today.”

“And do hurry,” Merry exhorted. “We dare not play truant in purchasing your furniture and the other things, whatever they all are… I cannot think right now. Estella and Diamond will make cushions from our hides if we should fail.”

“I have the list in my pocket——it shall do all the remembering for us, more than we might wish, in fact,” Boromir said. Head throbbing, he dressed quickly and was soon on his way, stopping only to have Mistress Butterbur, the daughter of Old Butterbur, set aside some breakfast.

Walking past the minstrels was the hard part. They were quite good, but still, the sound shot through his pounding head like a bolt of lightning. Thankfully, the Apothecary was open, and he was soon on his way back, a bag of herbs in hand. Stopping in the parlour only to procure three cups and a teapot full of boiling-hot water for the cure, he made his way upstairs. The cure tasted, as expected (or, more accurately, as dreaded) awful, and Boromir had forgotten to bring honey, so they took it unsweetened, then went downstairs for more tea, just plain, good old tea, with lots of honey for sweetening. The honey would speed their recovery, they knew, and it gave them time for the cure to take effect before their light meal of fruit and bread arrived.

They had to visit two different carpenters: one for the ready-made furniture and one for the supplies to build Boromir’s kitchen. The furniture was easy enough as the carpenter proudly displayed more than enough finished pieces ready for purchase during Harvestmath. The lumber and other goods for the building of the kitchen would have to await delivery. Next, they sought out the smithies, for pots, pans, kettles and the like, and for silverware. After that, Boromir arranged for the fabrication of his cooker. The last errand was a visit to the weaver, for the blue cloth Diamond wanted. By the time they were done, they had recovered completely from the aftereffects of the night before.

“Of course you know what this means, do you not?” Pippin said.

“What?” Merry and Boromir chorused.

“Soon it shall be time to make arrangements for the occasion of a second visit to the Apothecary,” he replied with his usual pertness.

“Soon enough, soon enough,” Boromir laughed. “I want to visit the fair-grounds first.”

“Yes, let’s do,” Merry said. “We can get second breakfast there: fresh apple pies, still bubbling hot, fresh seedcakes, summer sausages dipped in batter and deep fried, perhaps a meat pie of some sort. Not pork, though; the cure did not work so well as to permit me to eat pork for now.”

With grunts of agreement, the three walked to the edge of town where the fair was set up each year. Boromir had been to harvest celebrations held by the farmers who lived near Minas Tirith, but this was different. For one thing, it was not so somber as the ones held by his dear but dour people. This affair was alive with merriment and vitality. There were tumblers and jugglers, men with dancing bears and trick dogs and ponies, and the wildly popular puppet shows for young and old—the latter often featuring puppets which looked like local leaders and which were portrayed in comic fashion. One could also find fire-eaters, dancing girls, acrobats, mummers and musicians. Then there were the competitions: for the best sheep, pigs, cattle, horses, and all manner of beasts of burden and companionship. Purses and ribbons were handed out for the best geese, ducks and hens as well. Competitions for the best of hounds and ratting dogs were always popular, and the sheepdog trials drew great crowds, not only for the talents of the animals, but for the boasting of their owners.

Also, there was competition for the best-prepared foods: cakes, pies, pickles, cured hams, dried meats, sweet biscuits, preserved and candied fruits. There were jams and jellies, wines and brandies, ciders, ales and beer of every kind, all vying for the coveted position of First Place with the bright blue ribbon on the certificate along with a fat purse. There were no entries for honey, or for the many treats made from it: the bees had not recovered from the bee-bane just yet, excepting, of course, Boromir’s bees. Boromir always had loved to prove himself, and so was a bit crestfallen at the lack of beekeepers. Perhaps next year, if there were other beekeepers by then, he might compete…

They moved on to the section where artisans and craftsmen displayed their wares. From one of the merchants Boromir bought a beautifully carved pipe, “For Sam,” he said. The intricate carving on the bowl and stem recalled the elvish carvings they had seen on their journey, and once he saw it, he had to have it. It would make a fine gift for Sam, when Boromir’s birthday came round and it was time to give out gifts in the custom of his new home.

Then there were the competitions for tailors. Here Boromir, having been measured by the tailors and chosen the colors and kinds of fabrics he wanted, arranged the making of two new shirts, two pairs of breeches, a new cloak, and a coat.

He also purchased serviettes, handkerchiefs, bed sheets, bath sheets, flannels, and a number of thick woolen blankets. To the everlasting amusement of his friends, he bought pillow shams. The hobbit companions were yet more amused at the acquisition of a bed-warmer. This they could not let pass without a bit of teasing.

“Are you growing soft as you grow older? You have been lacking in your soldier’s discipline,” Merry grinned.

“Who would have guessed you would ever even consider the purchase of such things, all those years ago,” said Pippin.

Boromir raised an eyebrow at the tartness of Pippin’s remark. “Soldier I may have been,” he said, “but I was born neither in barracks or battlefield; and I would have you remember that once I was as gently bred as any Took or Brandybuck, and grew up surrounded by the finery befitting my station. My people would have been shamed to see it otherwise.”

“We know that. Still, pillow shams?” Merry jibed.

“And bed-warmers?” Pippin grinned.

Boromir heaved a sigh. “I can see it will be a long time before either of you let me forget this day,” he said ruefully. But there was humor there in his eyes. This served him well, as he was not done choosing a few more surprising purchases just yet. There were other things, and these surprised the hobbits more than any.

One of the hobbit seamstresses had made many pairs of gloves and matching scarves, and from her Boromir purchased gifts for the wives and sons of his friends as well as for the Gamgees. Just as they were about to leave the garment-makers’ area of the fairground, Boromir stopped so suddenly that Merry and Pippin bumped against him, causing them to drop a few packages. Observing their friend, they saw what stopped him in his tracks: a frock made of wool in cornflower, lilac and pale green.

Turning to Merry and Pippin, he asked, “Do you think it will fit her?”

Looking at each other, Merry and Pippin both suppressed smiles. Then, stepping closer to the dressmaker’s display, they carefully judged the proportions of the frock.

“I think it will do very nicely,” Merry said.

“Oh, yes, a perfect fit,” added Pippin. “The colors are just wonderful, and should set off the color of her hair very well. The cut will be very flattering as well, I should think. I’m sure she would be well impressed.”

“Should I buy it for her, do you think? Or will she consider it improper?”

“Oh, if you present the gift to her properly, under the right circumstances, it should be all right,” Merry said.

“I agree,” Pippin said. “Only… ”

“Only, what?” asked Boromir.

“How shall the poulterer’s daughter ever get her beak through that neckline?”

Merry howled with laughter, not only at Pippin’s jibe, but also at Boromir’s wincing shudder.

Boromir shook his head and pinched his nose between his eyes ruefully. “Why did Galapas have no words of wisdom for me regarding Tooks?”

“Would you have heeded his words, had he given them to you?” asked Merry.

“Probably not,” Boromir admitted. “But please, do tell me sincerely, will she allow me to make a gift of this for her? I do not wish to be perceived as being too forward, or have my intentions read wrongly.”

“Actually,” Pippin said after some consideration. “It all depends on the manner and circumstances in which it is presented. She mustn’t be allowed to think you doubt her virtue.”

“Yes, but in what manner, and under what circumstances may it be given, in which no one could say anything about it being at all improper?” Merry added.

“If we can find a way, we three can pay for it together, just in case anyone wishes to make something of it,” Pippin said.

“You would do this?” Boromir said.

“Of course we would!” Merry said. “After all, it is plain to us you are going to be miserable if you cannot woo her. And we would not see you unhappy.”

“Besides,” Pippin said, “If Diamond and Estella get wind of this, they could decide to take matters into their own hands.”

“Oh, my!” Boromir said, “I had not considered that.”

“Her frock is so careworn, yet I think she would not accept such a gift,” said Merry, his brow drawn in thought.

“Oh, pish,” Pippin laughed, rolling his eyes at Merry’s disapproving glance at his language. “Go and buy it, Boromir.”

“But how… Pippin, what are you thinking?” Boromir said.

“Never mind me,” Pippin replied. “Just go and buy it, and have faith in me! I will find a way. Go! Go, I say!”

Pippin roughly and laughingly pushed Boromir in the direction of the dressmaker’s display as Merry laughed so heartily no one would suggest he did not live up to his name. But Merry spared a worried glance in Pippin’s direction, and wondered what his cousin might be planning. Sometimes Pippin could be such a… well, such a Pippin. He watched with a wary eye as Pippin dragged Boromir over to the seamstress to strike a bargain.

The price given was dear, as all ready-to-wear garments were, but the seamstress, though shrewd, held few defenses in regards to the bartering skills of the Tooks, and soon Pippin had managed to get an acceptable deal. Overall, the bargain was amenable to all parties, and the three pooled their coins for the purchase as they had agreed to do. Now the frock could not be seen as a personal gift from a man to an unattached lady.

With the garment wrapped in heavy paper and tied with string, Boromir added it to the stack of bundled prizes he had purchased. The three companions gathered up the rest of their packages to seek something good to eat after only one more detour: Pippin had spied some red wine from the very same batch that had won the purse and the First Place prize. Having paid for several bottles, he arranged to have them sent to their quarters at the Prancing Pony. While he was busy with this purchase, Boromir spied a small group of “his” little urchins, the ones he always gave treats to when he came to Bree. They were hovering near a pie vendor, their large eyes devouring the treats so wonderfully displayed there. He offered to purchase some of the little pies for them in return for the lads carrying their packages to their accommodations, and the young ones, children of Men and of Hobbits, jumped at the chance.

“Hurry back,” he said, “and there shall be some coins for you as well, so long as you all remember to buy something nice for your mothers and fathers.”

“Pinch me,” said a little hobbit lass to her companion. “I must be dreaming!” But her friend did no such thing. The young ones were far too busy taking up the packages, each making sure the others all had some small burden to bear so that the unexpected earnings might be shared among them.

“Hurry along, or the pies could be all eaten up before you get back,” Boromir called after them.

Merry quietly watched his friend smile as the little ones scampered off excitedly. “I see you have not changed all that much, after all,” he said.

Boromir only looked at him with raised brows: I cannot imagine what you are talking about!

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! Still a soft touch with the youngsters, I see. No, in some ways you have not changed. But in this case, a change would not be good at all. I remember how you used to give Pippin and me a few bits from your own plate, saying Sam’s servings were far too generous. You knew we were still quite young, especially Pippin, and hungry most of the time.”

“I am quite sure I do not remember anything of the sort,” Boromir said, but he grinned at the memory. “Here comes Pippin. Now, what was that I heard about summer sausages and meat pies?”

“We can get the pies here, but I’m not quite sure were the sausages may be found,” said Merry. “Perhaps you may wish to sample some of those lovely mushrooms, so big they stuff them with cheese, bacon and breadcrumbs?” (This last Merry added with more than a little hope.)

“Half a moment,” Boromir said, once more digging his coins out of his pocket. He bought a dozen of the small pies and had them set aside for his urchins, then a half-dozen for himself and his companions. These, instead of being fruit pies, were of chicken. Piping hot and filled with choice bits of chicken, potatoes, tender carrots and peas all swimming in a thick, savory sauce and enfolded in a golden crust, they were so succulent, so satisfying, that the three friends completely forgot about sausages. The same could not be said of the mushrooms, which they devoured in absolute——and appreciative——silence.

Merry and Pippin were only just lighting their pipes when they saw Boromir’s urchins returning, and with them, holding the hand of the smallest hobbit lass, was Saro. Spotting the three, she raised her hand and waved in greeting, smiling as she came. Merry and Pippin watched Boromir closely. He quickly brushed crumbs from his beard and shirtfront and cleared his throat three times, swallowed hard, then stood and bowed as she drew near with the swarm of urchins all around her.

“Pardon me, dear Lady,” he said. “I must pay the children for the fine services they have rendered.”

Eager little hands were held out amid appreciative o-o-o-o-oes and a-a-a-a-a-ahs. The last to receive a pie and one of the shiny silver coins was the littlest one, the youngest of the hobbits, the tiny lass who had bidden her companion to pinch her. Holding the coin tightly, she tugged at Boromir’s sleeve. “Please, Mister Beeman, I want to buy a ribbon for my mother’s hair, and… well, she never had a doll when she was small, and I would like to see if I might find one for her. Then she could share it with me, and we might have grand tea parties together, my mum and me. Have you seen anyone selling dolls? You see, she told me that if she had a doll, or if she could buy one for me, we could have ever so much fun together. Does anyone have any dolls for sale?”

Boromir looked rather befuddled. “I beg your pardon, little miss, but I fear I took no note of such things. I am sorry.”

The little one looked up at Saro with large, soft brown eyes. “Miss Saro, do you know?”

Kneeling by the child, Saro patted the little one’s shoulder and said, “No, Holly, I do not, but I would be quite happy to help you look.” Standing once more, she smoothed her worn skirt and offered a hand to the little lass.

Boromir’s hand stretched out, as if to grasp a moment to speak, as an odd sound caught in his throat, so that he sounded as though he was saying “Ack!” His mouth worked, but no words came. Saro waited patiently. Boromir cleared his throat yet again and finally blurted out, “Will you be attending the Harvestmath Dance tomorrow evening?”

She smiled shyly in return. “Yes… or perhaps… I am not sure.” She gave no reason for not attending, but the three companions saw her fingering the threadbare skirt, and knew she was ashamed to make an appearance in her tattered frock. “I had better go now. I should like to see everything before it is time to go to the Fox and Hound. Good day to you all, I am very glad we met again.” She spoke softly, yet so warmly no one could ever think this was only a nicety to her. “Oh,” she added, “I should say thank you ever so much, for the little ones. You are very kind to them, where fate has not been so very kind at all. You are a good man, a kind, good man and… ” Here she seemed to run out of words, and only blushed, dropping her eyes. “Good day to you all,” she stammered. Then, with a smile, she took little Holly’s hand and vanished into the crowd.

Merry leaned close to Pippin, and putting his lips to Pippin’s ear, whispered, “This, cousin, will not do. Look at them! It is plain they like each other very much. Why must such a simple thing be made so complicated, and by the dictates of wagging tongues!”

“I know, I know,” Pippin returned, “But you see, it is not Boromir, not him at all. She feels herself of lower standing than other maidens, and she is seen as such by others, unfortunately, because of her father and uncle. She must mind appearances, because she is trying to raise herself above the reputation of her family. She cannot afford to be careless. Which is why I am going to put things right!”

“How?”

“You’ll not get that out of me, Merry! You will only try to stop me.”

“Pippin?”

“No!” He crossed his arms, and Merry sighed. He would get nothing from Pippin, he knew, not when he looked like that, as bull-headed as any Took could be.

“Boromir,” Pippin said, nudging his friend, who seemed to be woolgathering. “Let us go and see how our mounts fare! Dapplegrim should have his apple, as should Stybba and Lady Grey. It is Harvestmath for them as well, you know!”

The afternoon sun poured in through the open door of the livery and pooled on the floor, warm and golden as the summer straw beneath their feet. The air smelt of fresh hay and well-tended animals. The stable master greeted them cheerily, waving a hand in the general direction of the box stalls where their mounts rested, munching contentedly on oats and barley. Their beasts, well fed and brushed, nodded their heads, blowing and whickering in greeting, as if to say, Fancy meeting you here! The grooms obviously spent a good deal of time with their charges, stroking them and talking to them, as should be. Dapplegrim and his dam, brushed until they looked as sleek and shiny as silver statues, nodding their heads in welcome out over the half-doors of their stalls. Between them, little Stybba stretched his neck to poke his nose over the edge of his own half-door. His shaggier coat, freshly curried, with mane and tail newly brushed and trimmed gave him an air of elegance of which the pony seemed quite aware. Their masters greeted them, calling their names and praising the grooms for jobs well done.

Boromir, Merry and Pippin gave the young grooms a few extra coins for taking great pains to properly attend the animals in the manner to which the beasts were accustomed. After all, these neat-footed Rohirric beauties were the finest mounts in the area. No hoofed creatures for hundreds of leagues had their prestigious bloodlines or intelligence. These might well have competed at the Harvestmath Fair, but their owners would not suffer their beasts to compete against plainly lesser creatures. As well, they knew the competition would suffer greatly. Their masters needed no purses or ribbons to tell them how valuable these creatures were; Rohan did not freely share the bloodlines of their horses. The stud books in that country were as jealously guarded as the herds.

Before Boromir, Merry and Pippin left them for the evening, each animal was given treats consisting of apples from the finest crops, proudly displayed at the fair. Dapplegrim, her mate, and their offspring were suitably appreciative, imperiously nosing their owners for a little more. After visiting with the animals, the three friends decided it was time to slake their thirst with more than water or cider, and so after a stop at the Pony, where Pippin collected three bottles of the fine red wine, they made their way tothe Fox and Hound.

Pippin made a gift of one bottle to the owner of the inn, calling for glasses, bread and cheese and several servings of mushrooms and bacon. As they finished eating and were about to have a second glass of wine, they heard what they had come here to hear: the sounds of patrons greeting Saro. The three called out to her cheerily, and she rewarded them with a smile. As Boromir caught her eye, she blushed again, but smiled more broadly, revealing a charming dimple and crinkling her lightly freckled nose. They gestured for her to have a seat, but she was on her way to the kitchens, and she told them she had chores to complete before she could sit down. As she walked by, she paused briefly to let her hand brush Boromir’s shoulder, and then disappeared behind the door to the kitchen. Boromir sighed. Merry nudged Pippin. Boromir’s face held a look of longing and his eyes seemed to be seeking something far away.

But Saro was soon done with her duties for the moment, though her work would be long in the doing later that night, after the inn had closed for the evening. Musicians had come to earn their meat and drink and the inn was rapidly filling from wall to wall. Soon the visitors, merry with drink and full bellies, were ready to celebrate into the evening, and began to sing along with the musicians, and then they began to dance. Pippin kicked Boromir’s leg under the table and subtly nodded at Saro. Boromir held out his hand to her, and she rose to join him; here in the inn she could dance as she pleased. It was a part of her duties to make visitors feel welcome and happy, and since this was a very respectable establishment, there was no shame it, for here she was seen as more a hostess than a simple tavern girl.

As the pair joined in a reel, Pippin grinned. They would be working up quite a thirst. When they returned, Pippin began to refill their glasses, including one for Saro. He raised his cup. “To a fine harvest, this and every year!” The other three raised their glasses to join the toast, but as the glasses touched, Pippin grew suddenly clumsy, missing the other glasses entirely. The entire contents of his glass suddenly arced quite gracefully through the air and came down upon Saro, painting her frock from shoulder to hem in deep, red wine-stains. Saro gasped. Boromir gaped.

Merry, however, squeaked rather loudly. “Pippin!”

“I have ruined your frock!” Pippin said. “I am so terribly sorry... my friends can tell you this is not the first time I have got myself into a mess and made a muckle of things. Please, you must let us make it up to you.”

“But… but,” Saro said, her voice tight.

“ ‘But’ nothing, my poor, dear thing!” Pippin said, clucking his tongue. “But we can set this aright! Today at the fair, we purchased a frock. Boromir has many friends where he came from, and we bought this one to give to a maiden who has caught the eye of a dear friend. (This was not entirely false, after all, Pippin felt, and so was not quite an untruth.) But we can purchase another very like it tomorrow. You must accept the one we have, to replace the one I ruined. I shall be greatly dishonored if you do not. You would not shame the Took and Thain so, would you, dear lassie?”

“But I… Oh, I do not know what I should do!”

“You should accept my offer, dear lass,” said Pippin at his most charming. “Please, I beg of you! I shall never forgive myself if you refuse. I fear my friends shall be most put out with me if I cannot put this to rights.”

“But I…”

“Very well, then. Just you wait right here, I shan’t be long!” And with that, he was up and out of the door and quickly on his way. But Boromir sprang up and soon caught up with him.

“I cannot believe you did that!” said Boromir, “I do not know what to….”

“Oh, hold your tongue!” said Pippin, “Go back into the inn, and smile and reassure her! Boromir, I was the son of the Took and Thain, but before that I was the son of a farmer.”

“Are you mad? What has that to do with your behavior?”

“Boromir,” Pippin said, as if explaining something complicated to a child, “The Harvestmath Dance is tomorrow evening! What better time than Harvestmath to plant the seed?”

“I do not understand you, you rascal.”

“You poor, silly Man,” Pippin said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “What better time than Harvestmath to plan the next harvest?” With that, he trotted off, leaving Boromir scratching his head. Suddenly it dawned on him what Pippin had done.

A farmer’s son indeed, and a shrewd Took and Thain to boot! Plainly, in regards to romance, it was planting season. He laughed aloud, shaking his head, and made his way back into the inn.